


Heavy Soul

by RoughlyTheSizeOfABarge



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Gay Shiro (Voltron), Hurt Shiro (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Okay Ending, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sad Shiro (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shiro (Voltron) is a Mess, Shiro (Voltron)-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:54:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27189628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoughlyTheSizeOfABarge/pseuds/RoughlyTheSizeOfABarge
Summary: Shiro has PTSD and also Sendak and Haggar can kiss my ass.This is basically a huge self-indulgent fic where Shiro has actual trauma that is addressed and also has a real character (kind of, hopefully) and then has Best Boyfriend Adam to help him afterwardsTW Rape elements (implied), blood and gore, general upsetting trauma
Relationships: Adam & Shiro (Voltron), Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Allura & Coran & Hunk & Keith & Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro, Keith & Shiro (Voltron), Matt Holt & Shiro, Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro, Sendak & Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Heavy Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody (if this blows up, which it probably won't because Voltron is a dead fandom) 
> 
> This my first fic that I've written for ao3, but not technically my real first (we don't talk about maze runner fics that I wrote about when I was like 12) so if you guys could play nice and be respectful that would be great
> 
> If yall are planning on being nasty or rude then you're just getting ignored, so theres really no point
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Space was everywhere; it nipped and grabbed at the stars, the planets, the dust, pushing and pulling and warping and distorting everything that you can see. Space was a black pool, an inky ball of string that had time and gravity and matter strewn throughout its depths, solitary planets and impossible stars drowning in the vast, neverending sea.

It’s fascinating how, in every setting other than space, your body is assigned to a law, a rule, a direction, but when your body is relocated to somewhere without these rules, your brain still desperately tries to assign ups and downs and lefts and rights to the space around you.

Whilst your brain sees these images of dark pits and bright specks and colourful arrays of space dust and explosions, and assigns them the direction of “up”, your surroundings aren't truly in any direction. Without a reference or a definitive "up" and "down", everything means nothing.

It's just the tiny human mind trying desperately to make sense of the universe.

Trying to rationalise it.

That’s the predicament that Shiro found himself in, after realising - remembering? - he was in the depths of outer space, with no helmet or spacesuit (didn't he need one, for the air?) for protection. Protection from what? Was he being followed? Hunted? Murdered? 

Perhaps that’s why he was there, and not here - or was it here and not there? He couldn’t even begin to figure it out, his head was pounding, thump thump thumping away at his eyes, impairing his vision so a dark cloud had formed in his brain. Or was that a shadow - it was getting harder and harder to decide what was real and what was not.

But surely if there was a shadow then there'd have to be light; but there was no light. It was only dark.

Only dark.

No light sources? Don’t be silly Shiro, there has to be light sources if you can see the space around you - or was it “he” and not "you”? Shiro couldn’t remember, he was getting confused with all this pounding in his skull. 

Wait, no. It wasn't his skull, it was his fists. Banging and clanging and thumping away. God, he sounded desperate.

Wait. 

When did he move?

Now he was really confused, because he doesn’t remember how he got there, and now that he is there he wants to leave. He wants to be free, floating away, tick tock tick tock as his death never comes closer but space draws in and collapses in on itself. Maybe, waiting for his own demise, he'll witness the death of all he knew and the birth of another universe. 

Again, his bleeding hands - no, claws - clang against the metal hull of the ship, reverberating through the metal, rapidly dragging his attention back to the present.

The sounds his hands were making dissipated into thin air, sluggishly swimming through the inky mass of the cosmos.

Oh, he was outside again. How can he be outside when he never even moved? 

He’s tired, he wants to sleep (these questions he asks confuse him, and he knows he'll never get an answer). He knows somehow that he cannot sleep, the darkness behind his eyelids identical to the darkness surrounding him. There’s no point in sleeping, there’s no point in being awake, there is no point to any of this - but there has to be if the Black Lion put him here.

So She put him Here, that makes sense. Does it - no, he’s not asking questions, his head is still pounding, he doesn’t know the answer. He doesn’t need to know the answer. But he needs to know why. 

Why was he Here?

Why did Here look so familiar, like home, like the view outside, on the Kerberos mission?

Why were the stars going out? Oh God the stars are all going out, extinguishing in the blink of an eye. Oh but this must have happened millions of years ago. Nothing to worry about, right?

Why is his head still pounding, pounding, pounding?

No, he’s gotten himself confused again, he’s tripped and fallen and now he’s drowning, he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can breathe, or he never could anyway so why should it matter that he’s sunken lower into space? Again, another question. Why does he keep asking so many questions?

Nevermind, abandon that thought Shiro, start with what you know.

What questions do you want answered?

Millions upon millions of questions and queries and baffled exclamations bubbled up and out of his head, a shroud of words and half finished solutions stuffed his brain.

Stop. Patience yields focus, Shiro, remember that.

Okay. Let’s narrow it down a bit; what questions do you need answered?

Once again a multitude of questions sprung to mind, but they were smaller, more manageable in terms of organisation, definitely not easier in discovering his own solution to.

Now, out of those important questions, which ones are too difficult to answer?

Some sprang to mind, but he knew what he had to do and he discarded them, saving them for later.

Only a few questions were left though, and they still churned his stomach and his brain and his butterflies - butterflies? Oh right, it’s a saying. That means he’s nervous and anxious. How could he forget? How could he ever forget, it's such a famous phrase, how is that even possible?

Focus, Shiro, steady your mind, think about those questions, forget the butterflies. 

So, why were the stars going out?

Well, a star has a lifetime much like any other living being in the universe - living being, perhaps that should be discarded too - and once it reaches a certain age (after it’s depleted it's own resources, the mass too great for its own body to sustain) it gives up. Much like you did, Shiro. No, he didn’t give up, he was forcibly removed. She surrendered for him. 

So, Shiro knows that stars die, but once they die they become colourful explosions or novas or nebulae or white dwarfs or black holes. They never just disappear like they never existed in the first place, do they? 

Maybe they do, or maybe their existence was so fleeting that the imprint never stuck, or maybe these stars never existed before. Before? Before what - before him? Is his life, his existence, that important that he’s brought these enormous entities into the universe just by simply being? That’s becoming complicated, his pounding head hurt trying to decipher these questions he found for himself, so he dropped it.

Save it for later, Shiro, remember patience yields focus.

He was getting in a muddle again; his migraine had returned in full force - he wasn’t aware that it had gone in the first place - thump thump thump against his eyes, his pulse no longer a sign of good health, its purpose now to distract him. Was it his head aching or was it his brain crawling and climbing and clawing out of his damaged skull?

He wasn’t so sure anymore, he was certain there had been blood and brain matter dripping out of his ears and eyes and nose. But he couldn’t be certain - he felt it (or was going to feel it) but he never saw it fall, never saw it land anywhere. If it never landed on the ground, never drifted out into space, did it even happen? Surely if his brain was oozing out of his body he would be dead? 

But isn’t he already dead? Isn’t this just purgatory? Or is this punishment? But She wouldn’t punish him - wouldn’t She? - Black liked him, Shiro was (is) the Black Paladin. 

But so is Zarkon. Is Shiro supposed to know that yet? Did he ever know? He’s sure that he knows, whether he knew from being told (by whom he doesn’t know) or learning for himself, feeling it deep inside whenever he connected with Black. But why is he thinking (saying, whatever) these thoughts? Are they necessary? Or is it just him giving up, it’s just easier letting the thoughts come and go like the ocean’s waves, sweeping his resolve away with it. 

He’s so, so tired. 

Patience, Shiro. Patience yields focus.

Why does She keep saying that? She screams it at him whenever his mind gets lost, yet the labyrinth he’s trapped in is by Her own design. Does She want him to get lost, or not? What’s the purpose, the use, the reason for all of this? Why is he Here?

Focus Shiro! Patience yields focus!

Stop it! He doesn’t know who’s saying that anymore, what voices are screaming, talking, singing, yelling at him, all at once in a cacophony of agony and hunger. Hunger for what, exactly? His own hunger? His hunger for knowledge, power, peace? Why, why, why?

Shiro, stop. Be patient. Feel the world, the universe around you. Patience yields focus.

He’s not sure where he is anymore, he’s not certain he ever knew, but he remembers the inky blackness that swarmed around him, growing still as his mind calmed. He remembers the stars - yes, the stars! - the ones that were going out, the bright specks of light that had blemished the perfect dark around him. He remembers that, and he remembers the purple light from the battle against Zarkon.

He remembers it all; the flash, the wings, Voltron, Allura, Coran, Lance, Hunk, Pidge (Katie, his mind supplies). Keith. 

His brother, his best friend. Keith.

But they’re not Here anymore, or he’s not there anymore. He discards the confusion, the questions, Shiro understands that he’ll never understand, and he focuses. 

Patience yields focus. Go through your surroundings, the events leading up to this exact moment, if you get confused, go back to what you know. You’ve made your peace with not ever really knowing what’s going on, so don’t ask.

Shiro remembers battling Zarkon, the Galran army. Voltron wouldn’t work, or it wouldn’t form, something like that, and so they had to fight as individuals. He remembers the Lions, how they all thrummed with fear and anticipation, and Zarkon’s hold over Black. But he also remembers how She stayed loyal, he is the Black Paladin. He is the head of Voltron, he’s a survivor. A fighter.

“You’re important, Shiro.” She says - no - she sings.

He’s important. 

He turned around, feet finally landing on hard ground, spine straight, head held high, shoulders square, yet relaxed. She comforted him, Her quintessence (or aura) held him, rocked him, a constant lullaby in this world that She always knew would be too much for the boy.

Shiro looked, his grey eyes wide against the dark backdrop, his eyes immediately locking onto what was beneath him. It was a surprise to see what looked like an infinite mirror, a huge reflection of the space above instead of just nothing - the great emptiness, the complete absence of light and home unsettled him so the appearance of something comforted him greatly.

A breeze startled him, and immediately he looked up, neck craning to see the head of the Lion, Her stature held high above him in what most would assume to be a threat or a show of power. But he knew what She was doing, Her power was immense, it always showed. Even when She was simply sitting down Her body radiated dominance.

“You’re important, Shiro.”, Black repeated, “You’re too important to lose.”

“Lose? Lost to where? Am I lost now, because I’m Here and not there?”

Her head tilted, magnificent eyes almost blinding him, pointedly staring at him. Was he being berated like a school child? Now that’s something he didn’t miss. His neck was beginning to ache, the awkward position of balancing his heavy head atop his shoulders whilst trying to maintain eye contact was taking its toll.

“Don’t be silly, Shiro. You were lost before, now you’re safe again.”

He simply blinked in return, Her cryptic words confused him. He seemed to always be confused nowadays. Days - has it been days? Ugh, he’s too tired, too done to try and make sense of the world, of this strange world that She seemed to have trapped him in. He really is a quitter.

“You’re afraid, Shiro.” She murmured to him, “You don’t need to be afraid any longer, you’re safe here. You’re alone.”

But that doesn’t make sense. He isn’t afraid. 

“Yes you are.”

Yes, he supposed, I am afraid. But She’s wrong, he isn’t afraid of out there, he isn’t afraid of Zarkon or Sendak or Haggar, although he still gets nightmares from his past. No, what he’s afraid of he can’t be protected from, he can’t hide from it. He can’t ever be safe.

“I see now, Shiro. Thank you.” She sang again. Shiro assumed it was for comfort. 

It unsettled him.

“See what? What do you see that I can’t?” he was yelling now, screaming, his voice and thoughts and emotions escalating quickly, so quickly he can’t keep up. His head rushed, pounding again and again - why is the pounding back? - everything sweeping past him in a whirlwind of impossible colours. He hurt, he burned. Static was everywhere, noises and tastes and feelings and smells all merged into one, sights meaning nothing, they were muddled and confused, he was confused. Anything was everything and it hurt him, he was hurting and tired and alone, and he didn’t truly understand that until She made it stop.

He was inside the cockpit of Black. The view outside the windows was the same darkness that had stretched around him earlier. 

“I know you, Shiro. Your imperfections, your flaws. Your fears.”

The cockpit was deathly still, the silence so deafening he could audibly hear his own pulse skyrocketing. Dum dum, dum dum, dum dum. Over and over again, beating and pumping and pulsating in his chest, wrist, ears; any crack and crevice in his body the blood could reach was alive and full of fear. He could feel his muscles tense and clench as his brain fired electricity through them over and over again, preparing for a fight (or death) and preparing to kill.

“Don’t be afraid, Shiro.”, Her voice murmured (sang) right in his ears.

His head was raised stubbornly high, jaw clenched, shoulders stiff. He knew what he was doing, he was avoiding the problem. The fear.

Perhaps if he never looked directly at what was in his peripheral vision then it doesn’t exist. That’s how it works, right? You don’t look at it, it doesn’t exist. Yeah, yeah, that should work. His feet started to shift his weight, legs turning, knees bending, his head still held high but now also trying - and failing - to keep that thing as a mere threat. A few words. A promise.

“Look at it, Shiro.”

No, no, stop, stop it! He doesn’t want to look, don’t force him to, please, please. He can’t, he can’t. How can you not see that he can’t?

“Shiro. Look at it.”

Please. Please. He can’t, he can’t, it’s too much. Stop it, stop yelling! Please, it’s not fair, this isn’t fair! Why him, why me? Please, Shiro, don’t look - do look? Shiro, Shiro, you’re going to fall again, if you look you’re going to trip and fall and drown and you’ll never make it home. Please, Shiro, please, don’t do this. Stop! Stop turning, please Shiro, you don’t have to, there’s no one here but you! Just pretend, imagine, anything, please. 

Words words words words words. A thousand voices telling him - screaming, crying, sobbing, yelling, singing, muttering, whispering at him - to stop. 

Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop! STOP!

This isn’t fair, this isn’t right. This can’t be happening, this isn't real. It isn’t, it isn’t, it isn’t.

“Look, Shiro.”

He has to, but he can’t. He can’t, but he has to, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t. He has to, please, he has to. No choice, no decision either. This isn’t him doing this, these aren’t his eyes, aren’t his ears, his nose, his hands and arms and legs and fingers and toes. He isn’t here, he can’t be - so if he looks, he isn’t looking. If he hears, he isn’t hearing. If he’s afraid, he isn’t scared.

Finally, finally, at last his body had settled into place. His head hung low, heavy with thoughts (that aren’t his) and limp with exhaustion (that he isn’t feeling). 

Remember Shiro, this isn’t you.

His peripheral was creeping closer and closer, but he can’t move because it’s not his body, he can’t breathe because these aren’t his lungs. He can’t do anything but look with eyes that aren’t (are) his.

The head sat right in front of him (not him, someone else), dead eyelids half-covering the flat eyes, tongue looking like lead, lips draped around the heavy lump of flesh, falling slightly apart. The eyes weren’t looking at anything, but you could tell they were seeing. 

They saw a broken man, a boy, a soldier. A pilot who failed to bring his crew back home, twice. A fighter, a survivor, a victor, a murderer. A brutal slaughterer of prisoners and friends and foe and family. A boyfriend, or an ex-boyfriend, a lonely child with no one left to hold him, care for him, look after him. Shiro was alone. And he was tired. And he was afraid.

Shiro looked into those deadened eyes, and Zarkon stared back. Unwavering, unflinching, unmoving. One moment that head had yellow teeth and purple scales and horns and violence etched into its features, and the next it had soft, tan skin, white teeth, glasses, a mop of wavy brown hair. Everything Shiro yearned for, everything he sought after time and time again when the fact of his loneliness reared its ugly head.

Shiro blinked, eyelids settling shut for a short while, the bone-deep tiredness now invading his thoughts and clouding his vision. 

As he looked at the head, the pristine face of his last lover grew more and more gruesome. His easy smile turned gradually (instantly) to a grimace, mouth turning, eyebrows drawing together, frown lines forming, painting an expression of pain and anger and hatred and disgust and fear and disappointment and everything Shiro never wanted to see decorate Adam’s face like that.

The stump of his neck was gaping, swallowing up the surface the head collapsed on, blood and gore oozing and spraying uncontrollably as if his pulse was still beating, or his heart was still pumping the red ink around his body only to be pushed through an open neck wound.

Red was everywhere; painting the surfaces, walls, ceilings, seats, everything. Their faces were dripping with it, the red in Shiro’s mouth and ears and eyes and nose, copper and iron tainting the air that he didn’t need and flavouring his tongue that he couldn’t taste with. 

The sky, the stars, the cold black depths of space were all turning red, the cockpit of Black was flooding with it, the warm crimson liquid was sloshing and squirting and dripping off of every surface, everything in the Lion, everything Here where Shiro was - is? 

He was right, he had tripped and fallen again, he was drowning. Sinking lower and lower and lower into the bloody depths of the ocean, and he couldn’t breathe. 

He couldn’t breathe. His (not his) lungs burned, everything burned, the blood was hot, boiling him alive in the blood of his lover. How - why - was this happening? Adam - he’s gone, he’s dead, isn’t he? No, no he’s dying now, right here in front of Shiro, blood everywhere - remember? How could he forget, he was swathed in it, he was drowning in it. Waves and waves of crimson water and coppery smells washed over his limp body, his lungs begging for the air he didn’t know he was using. He couldn’t breathe, he wasn’t breathing. 

He doesn’t need to: he’s dead, right? That’s why he’s Here, to die.

Oh no, he couldn’t remember, why couldn’t he remember? There’s the space and the stars and the wings and the butterflies and the Lion and the cockpit and the head and the blood and he’s Here in the ocean now, except he’s not. He’s probably not, he doesn’t remember the ocean being red. Or maybe it is now, all those people who died, who bled, they turned the ocean red. No, he turned the ocean red. 

This is his doing.

This is all his fault, he’s wrong, he’s bad, he’s a bad person. A murderer. A killer. A liar.

Why is this his fault? He can’t remember, he can’t think, he can’t breathe. Remember, he doesn’t need to breathe. No, no he doesn’t know that, there are no memories of this, where is he? He doesn’t know where he is, everything’s red, everything’s blood. Just blood and gore and guts and everything wrong with the world.

He can’t think. He can’t think. He can’t, he can’t. Just think, Shiro, think!

Listen, look, smell, taste, feel, just don’t breathe. You don’t need to. 

Don’t breathe, don’t breathe. Ok, he can do that. 

Can he - yes he can, he can, he can. Ok don’t breathe, don’t hold your breath, just don’t.

“Shiro, focus.” Pidge said from in front of him.

Focus, Shiro, focus. You don’t breathe, don’t think, don’t question anything. It’s fine, it’s going to be fine. Just don’t ask, don’t ask why she’s here. Katie can’t be Here, you know this Shiro, but she is. Don’t ask, don’t think, don’t breathe. Listen, listen.

He stopped, he listened, he heard. He heard the roaring waves of crimson oceans above him, the glugging of floating air pockets, the bubbles rising higher and higher until they reached the surface. They were popping, going pop pop pop and he found it soothing.

Like that lullaby his grandmother used to sing, but he can’t remember it very well. It’s like a dream you just had; he could idly think about it, he can remember her dresses she used to wear, but when he thought about it, when he reached out and tried to grab it, he couldn’t. 

He was always left with an empty fist. 

"That's it Shiro," Keith murmured, "stay calm and relax."

"You got this buddy." 

Lance? Why was he here? And Keith too, why were they here?

Oh God, no, he's gotten them killed. He's gotten them all killed.

"Shiro, man, relax."

Oh no not you Hunk, not him, anyone but him.

"Number One! You should probably relax now, you're getting a few extra greys in there!"

They're just mocking him now, they're all angry at him. He's gotten them all killed, and they're not happy.

"Shiro, please," Allura spoke softly, "we aren't here to mock you. We want to help."

No, no! He knows what this is! He knows it's a trap! 

They should all be on board the castle but they can never go back, not until he pays and they can move on.

He should pay. He should be tortured. He deserves nothing less than their contempt and flying fists aimed at his body.

Perhaps that's why Haggar tortured him so much. Because she knew what he would become, what he already was. She knew that if he wasn't hindered by his disease then he could achieve so much more, cause so many deaths.

And that's what they wanted wasn't it? Death. Murder. Slaughter. Fun.

Made for higher profits, more tickets being sold. More people, bigger crowds, 3 on 1 matches where Shiro would still come out on top, despite the odds stacked against him.

He remembered the first match he played with his new arm. It was bloody and brutal; they wanted to test his limits at the very first chance so they kitted him out, shoved him into the arena with four other competitors, and waved goodbye to their Champion.

When he came back, covered in guts and sinew and blood and brain matter, they were surprised to say the least.

Surprised and happy and shocked and bloodthirsty.

His "reward" that day was a full meal. Although, the meat wasn't right and the dumplings weren't dumplings. Regardless of its faults he was grateful, he scoffed it all down without a second thought and when he passed out later due to the hidden drugs slipped in the gravy, his last thought wasn't one of surprise.

He remembered later that night when he awoke, because he was face to face with Sendak, a beast that he fears with every fibre of his being. 

It started there and then, the torture that would riddle his mind every moment after that initial meeting, Sendak's actions leaving him reeling when he had the strength to stand again after what had happened.

He didn't cry, he didn't scream. God, he didn't even try to escape.

What was wrong with him?

"Everything, my Champion."

Shivers traced his spine as Shiro looked around the abyss surrounding him once more, searching for the Commander's face.

"You'll never find me, you'll never win."

He knows that, he knows he'll never be free. Never be rid of those years spent in the arena, bloodied and bruised from battles he waged against the innocent creatures that were abducted and thrown in there with him.

He's a monster.

"You're no worse than me, Shiro."

Sendak was right about that. He understood Shiro on a molecular level, they were the same. Always were.

Always will be.

Looking down, Shiro saw himself in the vast mirror below, his reflection a shock, but only initially. He wasn't surprised to see the purple face gazing back up from the ground.

He knew that he was Sendak, and Sendak was him.

They're too similar to separate now, and he could tell that everyone who knew him agreed.

Anyone who knew Sendak, and knew Shiro, would know immediately that they were too alike to try and untangle them from one another. Their personalities were intertwined too closely, morals tangled up in a small, dense ball. 

Even now their physical appearances were awfully alike. Perhaps it was fitting for Shiro to look so similar to the very beast he had tried previously to hunt. 

He was the beast. Shiro was the true monster.

"You're wrong Takashi," softly spoken words broke through the veil that had encapsulated Shiro's body and mind, "I know you better than almost anyone. You're no monster."

Adam. 

He hated Shiro too, didn't he. He hated him for leaving, hated him for being ill, hated him for never coming back.

Adam hated Shiro, and Shiro knew he deserved it.

"No Takashi, I don't hate you. I would never forgive myself if I started to hate you."

That doesn't make sense, Adam always told him he hated him. He remembers from his dreams.

It must be a trick, a ploy. Bait to make Shiro lower his guard and get dragged back into those chambers, thrown onto that bed again.

He didn't want to be shackled.

"I know Takashi, it's okay. We won't do that to you. We could never torture you like that."

The words "You don't deserve it." were left unsaid, but Shiro got the message.

But he still didn't agree, even face to face with the love of his life he didn't know his own self-worth. He was stubborn in his self-deprecation.

He wasn't worth anything more than the flea off the back of a horse, yet he still managed to accomplish so much more than just a flea.

He spread like a plague through the universe, standing proud behind the Galra, murdering and slaughtering and competing for glory and victory and waiting for another death to come the next day.

Shiro was a terrible person, and he was addicted to the kill.

That's why, even now, with Adam crouching in front of him like a person would do to a cornered animal, Shiro had his arm lit up purple, poised to strike and kill.

This wasn't his Adam, his Adam hated him.

This one was a copy, a trick. Haggar trying to lure him back to her tight clutches, just so she can cut him up and stitch him back together again as the perfect Galran soldier.

She's done it before, she wouldn't hesitate to do it again on him.

"I'm sorry Takashi, I really am. But this isn't you, these aren't your thoughts."

What was he talking about? Adam was confusing him again, Shiro didn't understand.

"I know, it sounds strange Takashi but trust me, you're scared and in shock. You're panicking and I get that, but you can do real damage right now and deep down I know you know you don't want to hurt us."

Us? Who's "us"? 

"Look around Takashi, I'm here but so is Katie and Keith. They're here to help you Shiro, they love you, we all love you. And we want to help you and understand."

Shiro licked his chapped lips and willed his voice into working, "I don't deserve it."

"Yes you do Shiro," Keith spoke, "You deserve the help. You're a victim Shiro. You're not a monster."

Keith was being gentle with him, and he didn't like it. 

Keith has never spoken to him with such empathy or emotion before.

Shiro wasn't sure he deserved any of this. He was making them upset and he didn't want anyone to cry over him. He'd had enough making his victims cry before the kill, he didn't need any more tears because of his actions.

"Shiro we aren't here to make you feel guilty. We understand that your actions weren't yours to make, you had no choice. I forgive you Shiro. I forgive you. Matt forgives you. My father forgives you Shiro, you need to let them help you."

"Katie's right Takashi, you need to let us help you. We aren't trying to make you happy with the death you caused. We just want you to understand that it wasn't your decision to make, you were forced there and made to kill. You were abused and tortured, you were abducted and then thrown into this crazy new world of Galrans and empires and princesses and Voltron. And we are here to help you remember your value Takashi."

Keith knelt down before his cowering form, "You're worth so much more than you know."

Arms slumping, back slouched, his head heavy and eyes weary, Shiro looked up, and for the first time since the day began, his eyes saw the people in front of him.

His brain registered his surroundings and he took stock of the situation.

Realising he was cornered in their dark and cool bathroom, Shiro widened his eyes and gasped soundlessly as he truly felt his body for the first time in hours. 

His limbs felt weird, his amputated arm not feeling anything yet dragging his shoulder down all the same. 

Sweat coated his forehead and back, flesh hand clammy as his metal one wiped his forehead. Some damp, white hairs caught in the joints of his hand and he barely noticed as they were ripped out of his scalp.

His bones felt weak, muscles that were normally so tense and defined were now shaking and paper-thin, adrenaline and fear coursing through his veins. 

Red-rimmed, blurry eyes looked up from the spot on the floor that he chose to focus on, and instead he looked at Adam's face as he sat before him.

Adam saw the look in his eyes, understood without even needing to speak, and asked the other two to leave.

Keith was about to disagree before he too looked at Shiro and fully took his appearance in, and Katie understood immediately that he needed to be left alone for a while, and dragged Keith out by the elbow.

Takashi and Adam were alone now, one bone-tired and afraid, the other calm but secretly jittery with worry.

"Can I have that hug now?"

Adam nodded at the whispered words, and moved smoothly and calmly towards where Shiro had his back against the bathtub and rested his left arm over his shoulders.

Head rested and supported by the love of his life, the thrumming warmth that accompanied any living being encompassed Takashi's weary form and allowed him to relax.

With his every muscle lax, Takashi kept his eyes open but virtually unseeing, and allowed himself to sink into his lover's embrace and let himself be loved.

They both knew that in a couple of hours' time, when Takashi felt ready, Adam would ask to talk, and he would agree.

**Author's Note:**

> So... how did you like it?
> 
> It took me ages to actually get around to finishing this, because I lack motivation and real talent to do literally anything
> 
> I started writing this in like January I swear, but then I couldn't finish it and then corona popped up and school was crap for a while, but hey ho here we are
> 
> Leave kudos and/or a comment if you liked it
> 
> Leave constructive criticism if you didn't 
> 
> That is all


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